


Worse Than Death

by Holyangelheart



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Injury, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Werewolf Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holyangelheart/pseuds/Holyangelheart
Summary: One night the villagers all gathered to send one of their own to a fate worse than death. A prisoner would become the meal for the beast that was devouring their livestock. Yet as Keith gazes into the eyes of the beast, he doesn’t scream or shout. Without thinking, he begs for the beast to take him instead.





	Worse Than Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [@impendingexodus](http://impendingexodus.tumblr.com) from the [@vldexchange](https://vldexchange.tumblr.com) that requested for anything with a happy ending, werewolf/supernatural theme, and hurt/comfort!! I hope you enjoy this short fic. Happy Halloween!

Clouds floated above the quaint village, slowly swallowing the sun’s warm rays until the streaks of light completely disappeared and was replaced by an eerie chill. The sky grew dark and the ravens cawed from atop the stone buildings.

Suddenly the birds shrieked and flapped their wings as the dungeon’s large wooden door swung open. The villagers were already standing there, gathered in two long single file lines that formed a path to the woods. Three men in white hooded cloaks walked through. The two men protected the one in the middle, holding lanterns that contained a candle to light the way. Everything was silent except for the sound of iron chains dragging along the dirt floor, leading to the dungeon.

A fourth man appeared, dressed in a different cloak than the rest. His cloak was stained with splotches of red that varied in pigmentation. A blossom of burgundy flourished on the left side of his cloak. He pressed his left hand against his ribs as he walked behind the three. As he passed, all of the townspeople looked down; no one dared to look him in the eye. The clanging of the chains and metal clasp around his wrists echoed throughout the village as he followed closely behind.

Despite it all, his shoulders were square and his gaze was straight ahead. He did not cower as the dark woods grew closer. He did not flinch at the cawing of the ravens circling above. He did not react to being called their pitiful sacrificial lamb when they were sure he was out of ear shot.

A deep rumbling seemed to shake the ground and the white hooded men all trembled. People cried behind them, screaming that the ground would split open from beneath them if they stayed outside any longer. Some saw it as a sign from above: if they didn’t hurry, the village would be next.

When the red cloaked man fell behind, the man in the middle yanked his chain and propelled him forward. He almost ran right into their backs as they halted at the edge of the village. They ignored the wailing villagers as their gazes peered deeper into the woods. An outline of something appeared through the trees, small at first, but grew in size the closer it approached. That was no man; nor animal. It was wide and rugged like the fur of a bear or wolf. Yet it was so tall that it seemed to tower over the tallest building in the village. The figure stayed hidden under the thick leaf cover as the moon disappeared high above them.

It was watching them. Waiting.

With a grunt, the red cloaked man was yanked forward. He stood to the left of the man who held his chains. “Forest Monster, we would like to offer you a deal. Take this offering in place of our cows and sheep. We need them for the Winter that is to come. Please, we promise to never go into your woods for as long as this deal stands.”

Silence.

The two men turned their heads slowly, surveying the land before them, their bodies tense. The man continued, “We will leave this offering chained to a tree. If he is gone in the morning we will see it as your agreement.”

It was like clockwork as the two guards grabbed Red and began to chain him to a tree with a thick trunk. One of them held him against the base as the other walked around the tree, wrapping the chain tightly across his forearms and chest.

Regardless of how hard the man tried to fight them, three against one was too much. Before the monster could attack all of them instead, they quickly retreated back to the village, leaving him in the dark forest.

Everything was quiet for a moment except for his labored breathing and the sound of the metal grinding against each other. Finally the moon appeared through the foliage and illuminated the area around him.

When he finally calmed down, he viewed his surroundings. There was nothing around besides trees, bushes, and the ground cover. It was then that Red realized how quiet it was. There were no ravens circling above his head, no spiders crawling along his trousers, no flies buzzing near his ears.

It was too quiet.

The silence was so deafening that he closed his eyes for a moment; trying to listen for any movement in the forest.  There was nothing.  He opened his eyes.

And yellow eyes stared back at him.

He bit down on his bottom lip to contain a scream. Blood streamed down his chin. Without the moon, he would be blind and only the eyes of the Beast would be seen. Before him stood a human and animal hybrid, it looked like a wolf, but stood on its legs and had long arms like a man. It was a beast of legends…a werewolf.

The werewolf lifted its arm and one of its claws to brush against his chin. He barely stopped himself from flinching, but he didn’t look away. Not when the werewolf leaned in, sniffing the top of his hood. Not even when its nose nudged the growing red blotch on his abdomen.

He did wince, however, which the beast seemed to notice. It snorted and he glared. “What?” he asked.

“You are not a worthy offering,” it said.

He stared, his jaw slack and his body grown cold. It can talk. “You can talk.”

Instead of replying, the beast turned around as if to walk away.

“Wait!” He called out without thinking. The other stopped, looking over his shoulder slightly. There was nothing he could think of to say, but the thought of him leaving him behind sent a chill down his spine. “Why will you not eat me?”

The werewolf rolled his head back and laughed. It was a loud, booming sound that sent the birds flying out of the treetops above them. Screams sounded from the village again; they ignored them. “There is no merit to eating you. You are ill and reek of old blood.”

“That may be true—” he confessed without thinking, “—but please do not leave me here. The townspeople will slay me regardless if I am still here when the sun rises.”

He gazed at the direction of the village and looked back at him. “Your name?” he asked.

“Keith…and yours?” he asked.

He dragged his claws through the chains, breaking them quickly. “None of your concern.”

Keith doesn’t hesitate to leave the protection of the tree. “May I follow you?”

The werewolf looked him up and down before turning around. “Do as you wish.”

Without another word, the werewolf ventured deeper into the forest; his body immediately camouflaged by the night.

Keith was ready to embrace death if need be. He shed the red cloak and strode into the awaiting embrace of the darkness.

The darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

  
Adventuring through the woods when following a werewolf was no easy task. Not once did he slow down for him. While he leisurely strolled, Keith was desperately sprinting behind. He had no time to look at his surroundings, no time to remember the way back if he became lost without his guide. There was nothing for him to do but follow him; his life truly depended on it.

For once, the werewolf stopped and Keith leaned against the trunk of a tree for support. A small cabin stood in the middle of the forest. The sun slowly rose now; they must have been walking for hours. With the sunlight peering through the thicket of trees, he could see that the wolf’s fur was black with a white streak on the top of his head. He also noticed how the wood from the house matched the colors of the tree surrounding it. The house blended in perfectly from a distance as there was no path leading to the house either. The villagers never ventured so deep into the forest before.

There was no point asking where they are, even if he got an answer. “Do you live here?”

He grunted in response, opening the front door with ease. He left it open and Keith took it as a sign to follow. The inside of the cabin was a lot fancier than the dungeon in the village, which was certain. It had all the amenities an average house in the village would have. Yet it was clear as he noticed a bed and food that he used sources outside of the forest.

Keith eyed the wolf as he grabbed a piece of cloth from a trunk that sat at the end of the bed. “What is that for?”

“Your wound,” he said and pointed to the left of him. “There is a well outside; you can clean it.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say a word as Keith exited the house. He quickly saw the well, even more hidden than the house as it had leaves on top that helped it look like a tree. Pulling the bucket out of the well took more effort than he expected. Now that he was alone and could catch his breath, he finally felt the pain of his wound. Without the cloak, blood dripped down the side of his body, soaking his brown trousers. He tied the rope around one of the “branches” to stop it from falling back down. Then he dipped the cloth into the water and brought it to his side. He hissed as the cold water touched his open wound, his hands shaking.

During the journey to the cabin, his wound had opened up and came into contact with dirt and leaves. If he hadn’t cleaned it, it would become infected. Death would be imminent without medicine from a much larger town than theirs.

“You missed a spot,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Keith whirled around, his arm rose to fight back. Dark eyes widened slightly and it took him a moment to realize that the mysterious man clothed in a white shirt and brown trousers was the werewolf. “How…?”

The man shrugged and grabbed the cloth from Keith’s hand. He squeezed the water out and dipped it back into the bucket. Then he bent down to gently dab on his wound.

Once he got over his embarrassment, Keith was finally able to inspect his…savior. As a man himself, he noticed the difference in their bodies. He was definitely taller than most people from the village and had a build of a man that chops wood for a living. His hair was styled nicely: short black hair with a white streak in the center that was very similar to his fur. He had a slight shadow on his jawline and neck, but it wouldn’t be noticeable from far away. Being only a few inches apart, however, Keith wanted to touch it to make sure it wasn’t just the woods playing tricks on him.

“How is that…?” The man asked, now upright with his right hand placed on Keith’s shoulder. They faced each other in that position, and despite the possible awkwardness. Keith smiled softly. The man’s usual frown lifted slightly as well, a soft smile to mirror his own.

Keith placed his hand over the man’s. “Better, thank you.”

The man slipped his hand out of Keith’s grasp, grunted, and headed towards the cabin without looking back at him. Keith was stunned. Yet as he stared at his hands, he realized that the soiled cloth was missing. The smile from before returned and he quickly followed the path the man took. The thought of running away or attacking the werewolf to be free never once crossed his mind. He was eager to return to his side.

Once inside, the man once again dug through the trunk and retrieved a clean strip of cloth that was longer than the first and a shirt similar to his. He threw it at him and Keith caught both easily. “Wrap your wound and put that on. Go sit while I prepare some food.”

Rather than reply and stall, Keith did as he was told. After putting on the shirt and sitting down, he was able to look around without seeming suspicious. It truly was decorated well. The cabin had a homey feeling, a lot warmer than the dreary village nearby. The décor made a lot more sense now that he knew the werewolf could shapeshift. He would easily be able to slip into a larger town unnoticed. Plus, with his large biceps and thigh muscles, he would be able to carry back more items than the average man.

The scent of herbs and cured meat drifted through the air and Keith licked his lips absently. He wondered when the meal would be finished, feeling his fingers tremble slightly and his vision blur slightly. It was only then that he realized he was hungry. Before he could ask, a small table was placed in front of him with a clay bowl full of stew and bread to top it off. “Oh,” he squeaked.

“Eat,” Mr. Werewolf said before plopping down onto the floor before him, a bowl of stew in his lap with the bread half submerged. When Keith didn’t immediately begin eating, he lifted the bread towards him. “I would not waste time poisoning your food.”

“I know,” Keith said, his voice cracking at the end.

“Then why—”

He stared at his reflection on the stew’s surface. “The last meal I had was cold…You are more generous than anyone I have met, Sir Wolf.”

“…Shiro.”

“What…?”

“My name is Shiro,” he said. “Now eat before your food does become cold.”

Shiro continued to slurp his stew and when he peeked at him from over the rim of his bowl, Keith followed suit. They ate in silence, but the world outside the cabin came alive.

Unlike before, the birds were now singing and the animals all came out to play. Through the window, Keith could see deer prancing around without a care in the world. It was nothing like the night before. Maybe the animals were afraid of _them_ rather than the beast that dwells there.

Perhaps the villagers were wrong. Shiro brought him back to his home, cleaned his wound, and cooked a hearty meal for him to enjoy. The humans he knew would never show half the hospitality. As he sat there, he ate his food slowly. If this was the last meal he’d have in this life, he was going to savor every bite.

When he finished the last of the stew, Shiro was there, another bowl in his hands full of more stew. Keith rose, ready to hand the bowl back. But he was stopped when Shiro began to pour the stew into his bowl. Their gazes lingered for a moment and Keith’s face felt as hot as the bowl in his hands. The warmth was new and welcoming.

As he enjoyed his second helping, he noticed how all of the animals in the forest must love him. Slowly, the animals gathered around the cabin. The deer that pranced around before were now in front of the door, greeting him before moving on. Shiro returned the greeting to those that stood in front of the door. He spoke to them in grunts and howls; they always seemed to understand. They weren’t afraid of him at all. The beast that supposedly devoured the village’s livestock was more of an old pal to the ones in the forest. Regardless of how short their time together was, he knew that he would never prey on an animal.

It wasn’t a lie to say that the cabin felt more like a home to him with each passing moment. However, he didn’t dare to say the thought aloud. Perhaps things would go awry and he would find a fate worse than death. A fate where he loses the bond he now felt with Shiro. To lose the bond they slowly formed would give him more pain than being eaten alive or slayed by the villagers he never truly trusted.

As he placed the bowl in Shiro’s hands, the smile from before returned to his lips.

Keith knew then that if he were to die, he would want Shiro to be the one to end it.

That would be the happiest ending he could imagine.

 


End file.
